


Week Five - First

by Trojie



Series: Trojie's Pornathon 2017 [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, your mileage may vary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:11:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: Arthur's first job in dreamshare goes unexpected places.





	Week Five - First

**Author's Note:**

> For Pornathon!

It's not that big a deal, like, it's actually not. 

And as soon as Arthur gets his breath back and control over his wildly thudding heart, he'll calmly explain the situation to Eames, and they'll … 

… be sensible …

Eames lays Arthur down on his back on the stupidly expensive hotel bed and starts to unbuckle his belt and yes, sensible, they're going to be sensible, Arthur's going to say something just as soon as -

'Oh _fuck_ -'

'Mm, there we are,' says Eames, sitting back on his haunches and running gentle fingertips up Arthur's cock. 'How's that?'

The lack of air in Arthur's lungs is preventing him from answering. He shoves his trousers further down his thighs and gropes wildly for Eames, wanting to be kissed. 

Eames fends him off and pulls at his own shirt one handed, stroking Arthur and popping his shirt buttons one by one. 'Patience,' he says. 'Cobb told me you had that in spades, it's how he sold you to me actually - are you gonna make a liar out of your friend?'

Arthur bristles - he came to meet Eames for a _job_ , that's all, this whole - this is just things getting out of hand - but then Eames is shirtless and his pants are undone too and he's leaning back down into Arthur's space, blanketing him, and fuck yes, yes. 

'God, you're pretty,' says Eames when he's got Arthur naked, a process that should have taken more time given how long it took Arthur to get _into_ the three piece suit this morning, fumbling with unfamiliar buttons and the right way to tie the tie, but he wanted to look the part, wanted to look sharp, professional.

Well. He's sure his waistcoat looks very professional crumpled on the floor but he doesn't care right now because Eames is easing him up and onto his knees, his elbows, sinking wet, sloppy fingers into his _ass_ and Arthur's world hasn't just turned upside down it's turned inside out as well. 

He moans and loses all ability to hold his own weight, nearly faceplants the bed, hips shoving back against Eames's hand, because fuck, _fuck_ how has he never -

'Oh, pet,' Eames murmurs, pulling free and smoothing his clean hand down Arthur's spine. 'I wish we had more time. God. The things I want to do to you -' and Arthur hears the crinkling sound of a condom wrapper. 

But they don't have more time, they're on the clock here and more than Arthur wants to be professional he wants this … extra-curricular time-killer that Eames proposed to him down in the bar, even if he didn't quite know what he was in for when Eames proposed it. 

The first push of Eames, blunt and a little bit clumsy, like he's eager, like Arthur's making him lose a little bit of his control, is white-hot against Arthur's nerves, and he puddles into the mattress and arches his back and tries his best to look enticing. 

Eames's teeth sink into the nape of his neck. 'Fuck, you're so tight,' he pants. His hips are already moving. Arthur feels like a hollow vessel full of perfect, delicious aching, being kneaded like bread or pounded like millet. Fucked. He's being fucked. And he loves it. 

'C'mon,' he growls at Eames, because even being plowed into a bedspread he can at least try to exert some control. 'Fucking come inside me,' he says, shoving himself backwards enough to get a hand under his own belly, fist his own cock, because he's so close he can taste it and every slam of Eames's hips is ratcheting him further up, higher, tighter, further in. 

Eames's skin is wet with sweat when they sprawl together afterwards. Eames's teeth are still against the skin of his neck, his throat, too high for anything but a fully buttoned collar and correctly tied tie to hide tomorrow. 

Arthur's a little loopy, maybe, with orgasm and skin and exhilaration. That's the only reason, the _only_ reason, he says wonderingly, 'why the fuck have I never done that before?'

Eames chokes, and nearly falls off the bed.


End file.
